I Am What They Make me
by DrakeTheTraveller
Summary: Every tragedy begins with a story. Lance learns that life is not fair to everyone, and that often times the right thing is not necessarily as simple as it appears to be. There is a side to every story, and they don't both have to be right. The universe does not deal in absolutes. A first person narrative centered on the trials of a man who does not wish to be a slave to fate.
1. Chapter 1

I Am What People Make Me…

Have you ever wondered, when the nights drew on and the days blended together, at the sobering solitude of existence? As individuals we carry on through our diurnal burdens with single minded, but entirely thoughtless determination, as if anything we do _truly_ matters… as if everything we do has purpose, or meaning.

I happen to believe that's a load of self-righteous, sanctimonious shit.

Nothing I've ever done has amounted to anything I'd consider to be remotely worthwhile. True, I could blame that on any manner of horrible and foolish life decisions I'd made during the myriad of unpleasant experiences one could sum up to be the totality of my life. But it wasn't like I had the easiest of options.

I was born, if that at all matters, to a poor family in a low income housing complex on the outlying province of a world that was far away from the cradle of my species. Humans, violent and war hungry as we sometimes tended to be, found it hard to distance ourselves from our history. Even the vast expanse of the stars could not curb our desires for conquest; not even discovering that we were not the sole inheritors of this universe could shake us from our barbaric nature.

At least it hadn't for long.

Do not take my seemingly misanthropic views to heart. I'm sure my opinion has been formed entirely from the biases of my childhood and early twenties. I can confidently state that there are people out there with nothing but good in their hearts and love in their souls, but I am not one of those people. Life as I knew it, to reiterate a previous thought, was rough and deprived of most common luxuries afforded to those of high elevated status. My family could not afford healthcare for all their children. As the eldest and only son, I shouldered most of the burden, so I was sick often, and usually dangerously so.

The neighborhood I lived in was dirty, and infection traveled quickly through the crowded tenements. I didn't mind much, as long as my sisters were saved from the pain of disease.

But somehow, perchance from my tenacious desire to not witness what comes after death, I lived. More likely, it was because I inherited many of my father's better traits, like his impressive constitution, unusually brawny physique, and mayhap not so luckily, his calm demeanor. Surely, one might ask, what could possibly be so unfortunate about keeping a level head?

A fool might jest, but a wise man knew better.

My father was not a bad man. Conrad Wolfram worked hard and loved both his children and his wife.

He was, by all accounts, a good man.

His fatal flaw, if one could call it that, was that he always tried to be the sensible voice of reason during a fight. He always tried to be the mediator. He might have made for a decent policeman or even a bodyguard.

Yet fate was cruel.

At fourteen years old, weak and sickly after enduring a particularly tenacious bout of pneumonia, there was a knock at the door of our apartment.

Conrad Wolfram, age 43, had been killed during a simple dime store robbery after attempting to calm the gunman who was holding a family hostage.

My father was a good man.

A month later the trial was over. The gunman had been a kid, not a year older than I was, just some poor mutt wanting something to quiet the ache in his stomach; guilty, forty-five to life, little chance for parole. And, as the recently convicted shooter was led down the steps to the waiting police cruiser, I stepped out from the crowd and I put eight rounds into his chest.

I am _not_ my father.

That was the first time I ever killed, and my first, but probably not last visit to a government prison.

The district court was sympathetic to my case. I was only a distraught adolescent who had just lost his father, my family barely able to survive after his passing. There was no reason to suspect it was premeditated, that I had spent thirty days planning that one _crucial_ moment.

I won't lie to myself by expressing any guilt in what I had done. Sure the pup had been hungry, and he would be right to believe that the government did not care about those too poor to contribute to society, but so was my family. However I would admit to the disgust I felt at myself, at the… satisfaction, the sheer sense of _vindication_ , I felt as I watched the kid fall in a pool of his own blood.

He took from my family, so I took from his.

That was how I learned life worked.

I spent nine years in federal prison. The jury may have taken pity, but they had still tried me as an adult. And that was okay. At least my mother didn't have to pay for me while I was away. No. That was the government's responsibility.

I walked out of those gates at the age of twenty-three, a man more comfortable with the rigid, but reliable lifestyle of an inmate, than the chaos of the outside world. Things just made _sense,_ when I was in there.

There were rules, there was a hierarchy, and if those guidelines were broken, if you disobeyed the established status quo, the justice that was metered out was cruel, but fair. Life behind bars was simple, gave me a lot of time to think about my future, and where it was going. I knew, even back then, that I wasn't meant for the life of my father. I possessed his patience, but not his forgiveness.

I could not stand by and watch the injustice inflicted upon the meek and powerless. I could no longer turn a blind eye to what happened around me. I had seen a lot of that before I had been imprisoned, street gangs extorting small business, even if they could not afford to pay protection. I witnessed brutal muggings and things best left unrepeated. And when I was a child it had been easy to ignore, but the murder of my father had torn the veil of innocence from my eyes, exposing me to the hard reality of existence.

Life was pain.

But perhaps more important than that revelation, I had decided, on the third year of my sentence, that I would do something about it. Admittedly there may have still been some child in me that thought of superheroes when I came to that decision. Nevertheless, I was committed, and had the strength of body to try.

In some harsh form of irony, I was healthier inside the prison system then I had ever been out of it. After all, inmates benefit from free healthcare, and with nothing else really to do but hone my body and my mind during the endless days, I was quite the fearsome sight in my final years. Of the five years of my original sentence, an extra three were attached after I beat three inmates half to death in the yard for trying to start something with a new arrival.

Once again my sentencing was light in consideration of my reasons.

That was also, interestingly enough, the day I met my first real friend I would ever make.

At fourteen he had attacked and killed his drunk of a father after he tried to assault his own wife. Unlike me however, it had been merely an accident, during the scuffle his father had fallen down a set of stairs, his neck broken in three places once he reached the bottom.

Given the situation presented he had been acquitted of murder, but charged with involuntary manslaughter in its place, three years, no parole.

I don't know why the kid stuck to my side, more importantly I don't know why I let him. Perhaps it was because I saw myself in him, at least in the way that he had been willing to lay himself on the line for his family. He had protected his mother. He stood up for her when she couldn't.

And possibly, deep down, his father had loved his mother, but I knew for fact that my mother loved my father, and his death had hurt her irrecoverably.

And I would not stand for that.

 _I_ made the choice to get her the justice she wanted, _I_ walked to the pawnshop and bought that gun, _I_ waited five hours outside the courthouse for my opportunity _. I_ … _I_ looked that kid in the eyes as I placed eight holes in his chest.

Unlike me, he had killed his father.

I avenged mine.

Maybe that's why he stuck with me. Maybe he just wanted someone that would understand why he had made his choice to act. I was admittedly older than him by a good five or six years, so I didn't think it was out of a desire for friendship. I had saved him from the very same hazing I had experienced on my first day, and I had extended my own neck out to help him. And for that he became the only connection I ever made

It was a nice arrangement though.

I had a friend to keep me company and make the days a little less dull. And he had someone to watch his back in the showers and out on the yard. And when I wanted to take my high school equivalency test, he had been there to help me study. I didn't know if I'd ever need it, but it didn't exactly hurt to try.

After all I certainly missed the rest of my traditional schooling.

The first three, of the last four, years I spent in prison were different now that I had someone to talk to. They went by faster, and happier, then the others. We talked shop, did cards and pool, burned a couple cigarettes in the back of the laundry, and played part to more than a few scuffles when the guards weren't watching.

I'll probably never know the real reason why, but he followed me everywhere I went, like a lost puppy. Those in the ages of ten to fourteen can be quite impressionable, and I felt guilty that maybe he wanted to follow me around because he had imprinted on me.

Cornerians are weird like that.

Sometimes I almost forget how much they are like the animals they so remarkable resemble. And then out of the blue I get a stark refresher. And no matter how many times I think otherwise, it always catches me by surprise, the unnerving pack mentality, the way they are so prone to giving in to their emotions.

It's kind of fascinating in a way, at least to a human stuck in one of their prisons, a man uncomfortable with the notion of falling sway to sentiment and fitting to a crowd.

The alphas ruled at the top of the ladder, distributing laws and metering out justice with swift retribution. I learned quickly that it was unwise to mess with the paradigm already established, and I had no aims to aspire for anything but the position I already occupied.

I mostly kept my head down and my arm on my shiv.

Aggression was common in the prison, after all territory had to be monitored and protected, especially for a species who valued it so highly. And penitentiaries were not accommodating to those who liked space. I made a name for myself, mostly as someone who it would be foolish to fuck with. I didn't want any part in their games, but I was willing to lay down my hand when they included me in their plans.

I made sure to keep my companion away from that as well. It was a good way to get a young person killed. And they would have had no qualms in throwing him into some cheap skirmish like used goods.

He didn't deserve that.

I kept him clean, away from the drugs and the gangs and as much of the futility of the violence as I could.

Unlike me, he still had a future.

All he had to do was keep straight and narrow.

Fate decided otherwise.

A month before I was to be released, and six days before he was going to be out on his own charges…

I sigh even now to think about it.

One thing I could never shake out of him was his sharp tongue, and that time I wasn't there in time to get him out of the trouble he was quite proficient at causing.

Outside in, it was a relatively harmless thing, just a few words spoken in jest to the wrong crowd as he lounged across a bench in the yard.

I had looked away from my game of chess with a rather burly bear, to see an assortment of figures in bright orange crowding around last where I had seen him.

Pawns and bishops, kings and queens, rooks and knights, they all flew from their posts as I sent the board flying in my anxiety fueled haste. I had seen this before, many times. They were obscuring the view from the guard towers. To this day I remember the exercise yard's doors bursting open as a squad of prison guards stormed out in full riot gear, no doubt having seen what I had that day and recognizing it for what it was.

All the same I had arrived first.

I punched through the huddle like a sharpened spear, sending several inmates sprawling to the ground. And then I had seen it, my companion bound to the bench with a multitude of hands, and the leader of the gang sitting on his chest, a rusted knife digging through his prey's left eye socket, clear fluid streaming down the lupine's muzzle, wide open as he howled his misery.

Fear and rage both hit my gut and my fists at the same time, I remember shaking as I dropped low, fist clutching tight to the sharpened hunk of slate in my pocket. My following actions were fluid, guided by experience and intent. All said it had been over quickly, not five seconds passed and the canine dropped to the dirt, clutching the bleeding gash in his throat.

Three seconds more and the riot squad arrived.

My friend had been taken to the infirmary, hurt, but alive.

The gang boss had bled out before the paramedics arrived.

Once again I had found myself under the purview of the warden, but evidence was scare, and I had become rather liked by the guards. With no inmates willing to testify and be included in the investigation, I only had one more year tacked on to my sentence.

A small price to pay in my modest opinion.

Six days later and my friend left both the infirmary, and the prison system.

He came to visit me before he left, making promise after tearful promise that he would be there when I was released, but I had suspected he only felt guilty about my predicament. I had smiled and eased him with platitudes, though I had not waited on bated breath for that day. I fully anticipated that he would go on to live his life, and that would have been just alright with me.

* * *

My final year passed in solitude and silence.

And when my own time came up, I stepped out of those gates, an uncertain frown twisting my lips as I reaffirmed the duffle bag across my shoulders, within a small assortment of credits, clothes, and whatever idle things I had carved in the passing time.

I took a handful steps towards the bus stop, not knowing where I would go or what I would do now that I was out again. I had been just a kid when I was admitted, I had no job experience, no prospects or contacts to help me find my way, all around a rather foreboding disparity between myself and the general population as well as a signifier to the thoughtless nature of the public justice system.

It was then that a familiar voice made itself known to me.

"Lance!"

Unused to hearing my name aloud, I rounded towards the noise, a small, disbelieving smirk tugging at my expression as I took in the sight of the eyepatch laden lupine leaning against the hood of a street car.

So… he really did come back for me like he promised.

Gratitude was a new sensation to visit me that day.

The moment I was close enough, the lupine swept me up in a bone rattling embrace, the fur on his muzzle tickling the stretch of skin across my throat. I was honestly quite surprised at how exuberant he was to see me again.

"Hello Wolf." I greeted him with a warm, albeit thin smile. Memories arose unbidden of the teasing I levered against him for his name. And I realized that I did, I really did miss the young pup.

"Not my fault, my father was a drunk." He retorted with a sniffling laugh, his one good eye gleaming with unshed moisture. Then, he frowned, a conflicted rictus of guilt tearing across him.

"Look, Lance… about what happened."

I shushed him with shake of my head before he could go any further.

"Don't worry kid. It's all in the past, my fault I didn't get there fast enough." That was the way I saw it, and that was the way it would forever be.

He nodded hesitantly before wiping his eye. "Right, of course. You always were the knight in shining armor, just like I remembered."

I rolled my eyes at that.

I considered myself anything but a hero. A hero would have prevented what happed to wolf, and a hero would not have killed someone for it. Way I saw it; I was just a man with little qualms at ending a life if I had to. And that was anything but heroic.

"But that's not important." Wolf continued with a sad smile. "I know you don't have any place to go."

Yeah… he was right about that.

My mother passed away two years ago, from what I read from my sisters, she'd never been the same after my father died and I had been sent away. After that, the both of them had gone off planet, for a new colony and a new life. I didn't blame them for leaving, I was just glad they had the means to get away from this life.

All the same that left my living situation somewhat uncertain.

I had resolved to find a motel for now. I did have enough cash from my prison job to sustain myself for a little while at least.

"Oh no, don't even think about it." The lupine growled as he now doubt noticed my expression.

"You're staying with me, and that's nonnegotiable."

"I'd rather not inconvenience your family." I knew that while I did care for Wolf, I was not part of his family, his pack. And I had no intent on intruding upon his household. Besides, I'd rather be alone for a while. It had been a long time since I could have the privacy away from the populace I longed to have. The world had not been kind to me, and I had little reservations with keeping the sentiment mutual.

Wolf's teeth snapped together as his face darkened. "Damn it Lance, you _are_ …" He sighed, shaking his head as he pulled away. "Come on man, just come home with me. Please."

His petulant visage, reminding me so keenly of the feral quadrupedal animals of his race, made me realize that there were some things about this world I did not mind seeing. A sigh of my own slipped past me as I nodded hesitantly. "Alright Wolf, I'll come with."

Honestly, it was not a difficult decision to make.

The smile I received in answer was enough for me.

* * *

 _This will probably come as a surprise to my readers, but I'd been pondering over this for a little while. I am still not entirely sure where I'll take this, and originally I had no intent to post this. But I thought some people might be interested to read my test-bed for first person narrative and a more serious, down to earth tone unlike my other works. Unlike most things I am working on, this could be updated with any frequency, either often or not at all. That being said, I'd love to hear your opinions, as this will be my first serious attempt at trying a new style._

 _Drake_


	2. The Best Laid Plans

The Best Laid Plans…

Life outside of prison was… different, from how I remembered it, though that should not have been as a surprising revelation as it had been for me. I wasn't the same kid I used to be, and at least I inherently understood that much. At times, however, it was still a little confusing.

Not several days after my release I found myself pressed against a brick wall, the barrel of a blaster rifle grating against the back of my head

Allow me to elucidate with some exposition.

* * *

Doing what had been asked of me, and against my better judgment, I got in the street car with Wolf, the lupine still smiling that familiar smirk throughout the entire three hour commute to his house. We didn't talk during the drive, I out of the simple reason that I could not for the life of me figure out what to say to bridge the gap of our time apart. I was still puzzled at why he cared at all about me, at least to the point where he would remember to be there for me a year after we last met, that he would memorize the exact day I finished my incarceration. I had anticipated maybe an e-mail, or even a letter, not something so unexpectedly… personal.

I never did bother to ask him why he hadn't spoken. I suppose that, deep down, I was just glad that there was someone in my life that thought I mattered.

In any case, three hours of silent travel later, and we found ourselves parked in the driveway of a small, but pleasantly homely residential building, deep within the suburbs. To my eyes that had never even seen a real house before, one that did not have a myriad of neighbors above, below, or to either side, it was something beautiful.

I was taken from my thoughts when I heard the engine die, glancing to my left to notice the decidedly contemplative air overtaking my lupine companion, his smirk gone. He seemed, for a lack of a better word, uncertain, as he stared off into the distance, still buckled into his seat. I watched his paw fiddle with the keys, his tail flickering tentatively from out the bottom hole of the driver's seat.

"Why…"

Had I been one of them my ears might have perked at the sound of his long absent voice. "Why did you do it?" He asked, turning to me with a look not entirely devoid of… something, perhaps wonder, or remorse, I could not tell.

And somehow, though he never specified, I knew exactly what he was asking. We had spent three years in that prison together. We shared the same cell; we shared the same showers, the same meals, the same interests and activities. And when the time arose, we fought the same battles. In a way, we were closer than blood. But never, in all that time, had we ever asked the other the true reason we were there, why it was we did what we had to arrive at where fate had joined us.

"I can't give you the answer you're looking for, Wolf." I replied with a sad smile.

I have asked that very same question countless times over the years, and while I felt as if I did come to my answer, it probably would not have been the right one. Perhaps I was just tired, frustrated with the shovel of shit the world seemed intent on feeding me. Maybe I just wanted to lash out, to rail against the seemingly inlaid plans the universe had for my design.

I watched in sadness as the lupine's muzzle wilted.

That had not been what he had been hoping to hear.

But then, when was the truth ever?

Another minute passed in silence.

"I _hated_ my father." Wolf muttered softly, his paws clenching tightly together as a dangerous flash of genuine rage glinted across his one purple iris. "All my life I learned to fear him, he came home, often already drunk, rambling angrily about how he had not been treated right, _not given his due._ "

A sickly grimace told me just what he felt about that.

"First time he hit my mother, I hid in the closet. The second time I didn't run away to leave her alone to face that _monster._ And three months from that day I realized I couldn't just let him do that to her anymore. She… she didn't deserve that. But…" A tear trickled down his snout as he whispered. "I didn't want him to _die_! I just wanted him to stop, to remember that he loved my mother more than he did his pride."

I leaned across the console, laying an arm over his shoulder as he began to sob, unable to keep the scowl from my lips. Poor kid, he hadn't deserved what had happened to him. And it tore me up inside to see him like that. He was the only one left on this world that cared about me, the least I could do was return the feeling.

"It's alright, Wolf." I whispered with what warmth I could bring to bear.

"I was scared, Lance. He was so drunk, and angry, and he was so much bigger than me. He grabbed me and we fell, and I… I panicked. I didn't want to hurt him." He looked to me with the naked innocence of someone who was not quite yet ready to be an adult, to face the harsh realities of the world all we sapient beings were forced to endure.

"Am I a bad person, Lance?"

That question, for the first time in over a year, made me feel honest anger.

"Don't you ever think that, Wolf" I lectured him with a stern frown. "Don't _ever_ doubt yourself. I don't need to hear your story to know you're a good person. It's not your fault you were a better man then your father."

In that moment, I was just glad to see that he had stopped crying.

"We are better than the sums of our past. You did what you felt was right, and so did your father. What's more, you paid the dues society felt it was owed. You already faced your justice."

He smiled halfheartedly, a look that I shared with him.

"So don't you go beating yourself up for something that was already resolved a year ago."

Wolf nodded, his familiar poise resurfacing as he sat a little bit straighter and unbuckled his seat belt. "You're right." He admitted with an embarrassed chuckle. "And all I did was make myself look like a dumb kid."

"You're no dumb kid to me, Wolf. You helped me graduate, you kicked ass at my side when it was required, and you certainly made the years a little less droll." I chuckled.

The Lupine's grin faded.

"And then I left you alone with another year to bear across your shoulders."

"Water under the bridge…" I shrugged off his regret. "I thought we'd already been done with this topic."

"Still, I should have done _something_!" He argued.

"Like what?" I demanded with a reproachful frown. "Do something stupid and get your sentence extended? I'd be pretty pissed if you up and made my noble sacrifice worthless."

"Now come on." I urged as I opened the passenger door. "Let's get out of this car of bad thoughts. After all, I'm out now, we _both are_. We should be celebrating, not loitering in a mire of depression. _That_ would be childish."

Mulling over my words, he agreed with sharp dip of his head. "You're right." He admitted with a roguish look that made me somewhat concerned. "And I have just the idea to celebrate."

* * *

"And that…" I concluded with a glance up to the other occupant of my cell. "Is how I would inevitably end up visiting prison for a second time. And coincidently enough, decide that I would never again ingest large quantities of alcohol in a public place."

"So…" The feline drawled from the bunk above my own. "Is that supposed to make it any better that you punched me right in the snout?"

I Scoffed. "To be fair, you did threaten to claw out my testicles. _And…_ that was _after_ you tried to strangle me."

"Semantics." The cat retorted with a disinterested sigh, tail flicking idly at the edge of the cot above me.

I rolled my eyes, but refused to answer to the challenge. After all, I was only in holding for three day, I'd be out by the next morning and I didn't see a reason to change that. It was all Wolf's fault anyways, my idea of a good time appeared to be entirely opposite of his.

I would have gladly settled for a nice dinner at a restaurant for a taste of real food after being forced to eat the bland cuisine I had been fed for nine years, or maybe a movie night to catch up on all the films I missed out on. I should have never listened to that lupine. He always was good at catching trouble.

Oh well, couldn't exactly pick my friends at the moment.

"So… you gotta name muzzle thwapper?"

"I hardly think that matters right now." I muttered towards the ceiling.

"Really? I mean you kinda broke my nose almost, and our little scuffle landed us both in here. Surely that constitutes at least a simple transaction of labels?"

I thought about it. "No, not really."

"Dude… harsh."

I would have shrugged if I thought the cat would have seen it, or cared for that matter. Instead I decided that I would spend the remainder of my time here deciding on what I would do now that I had my freedom, relatively speaking. I still had to wait till tomorrow.

I really should stop listening to Wolf.

Anyways, considering my skills, or general lack of them, I couldn't really see a job I'd fit into. I didn't really have a marketable trade, or talent, unless you counted hurting people. Cause if you did, then I most certainly had something going for me.

But considering that killing people was somewhat frowned upon in modern society, that seemed unlikely. As I thought about it, I was hit with a pang of internalized resentment. I really had nothing but the support of another ex-con, a man who was already better than I would ever be. Even then, I hardly deserved my already strained good fortune. The record book for my deeds was mostly written in red ink I would imagine.

From my rather dour musing, a most unwelcome noise returned to my ears.

I was not at all enthused by that.

"Hey, Nose Bopper, can I call ya Nose Bopper?"

"…No…"

"So Nose Bopper," the feline continued. "I was just thinking, now that we've been stuck in this cell for the past few days, and we've been through a lot together…"

"A lot…" I wondered aloud, confusion warping my thoughts. "You sat across from the bar and whipped a rubber duck at my head, where did you even _get that?_ Furthermore I-"

"I know this going to sound weird, and you'll probably be all like why, or sure that sounds pretty hot. But…. can I touch your skin?" Amber orbs peered down at me from above, the features of the muzzle they belonged to concealed underneath the threadbare prison blanket the cat had draped itself in.

"I… excuse me?" Certainly I had not heard that right.

What…

"I've never really met a human before, not this close at least. Is it really as smooth as they say it is?" The feline's eyes shone with unfettered curiosity.

 _What…_

"So… can I?"

"Absolutely not." I snapped defensively, suddenly aware that I was locked in a room with a potentially insane creature.

"Oh come on, please… I'll let you pet me." The cat offered with a throaty chuckle. "Humans like that don't they?

Shit, I _was_ stuck in here with an insane creature.

Humans petting animals was fine, they were unintelligent and companionable. But I was certain petting had a _different_ connotation in cornerian society.

"I'll have to decline your… tempting proposal." I tried to sound reluctant, but I was never all that successful in hiding my cynicism. As usual my luck held strong. I had been paired up with a crazy person, another red mark for the ledger.

"Well… should you change your mind I'll be right up here." The feline reassured him as it once more receded out of sight on the top bunk. "Waiting…."

I sighed and rolled over in my cot, the blanket suddenly seeming very thin and the walls of the cell very small.

"It'll all be over by morning."

* * *

In a rare show of mercy from God, I was not molested in my sleep by a voraciously curious feline. Although I had not slept well, I did at least wake up with my pants still buttoned, though I could not help but notice that my blanket had fallen to floor during the night.

In any case I was unwilling to think further on the subject matter.

By nine an officer had entered the lockup and opened our cell with a stern warning to stay out of further trouble. I assured him that I very much so would refrain from ending back up here. My time spent with my latest cellmate had only endorsed my longing to stay far away from compact rooms and insane individuals. Satisfied, the canine nodded stiffly and gestured me towards the exit, where I could pick up my belongings with the clerk outside the doors.

A soft patter was my only warning before my cellmate appeared at my side with a chuckle, furry elbow resting on my left shoulder.

"Looks like we made it, Nose Bopper."

My eyes were sent into a revolution as I stepped away to let the feline's arm fall to the side.

"Yes it was… enlightening, to have made your acquaintance. Let's never do this again." I made my quick farewell to the cat before hurrying down the hall to collect the jacket and pocket knife that Wolf had loaned me.

"Alright then… see you later I guess!" The damnable creature called out after me with a pleasant tone and a cheery wave.

I let the doors speak for me as they slammed shut in the wake of my departure.

Slipping on my jacket and stepping out into the chilly winter air, I looked to the lot to see Wolf standing by the car, what I was hoping would not turn into a frequent occurrence.

"That is the last time we do anything you suggest." I warned the grinning muzzle of my friend as I angrily shuffled into the car and out of the cold. I had learned one other thing from my first few days as a free man. Cats are crazy.

Especially lynxes…

* * *

Days passed and I eventually put my experience behind me to focus on the future. I liked living with the O'Donnells. Wolf's mother was a wonderfully kind and quite woman, and I could see shortly after I met her, why my friend had done what he did.

Melody reminded me of my mother actually, at least what I remember of her. And just like my mother, she had been cowed by the punitive forces of society. She worked at a nearby hospital, manning the nurse station during the graveyard shift, a tough place for a soft person.

And that was why I wanted to leave.

She worked herself to the bone to pay the bills and keep herself and her son fed. The last thing I wanted to do was make it even harder for her. And if Wolf didn't want me to leave, well then I'd just have to find a job to help them out if I intended to stay any longer.

Wolf and I, we passed our equivalency tests back in prison, yet from what he told me of the year he spent at home. No one wanted to hire guys like us. After all we weren't just ex-convicts; we were ex-convicts with murder and manslaughter on our records.

As one could imagine, that wasn't a pleasant topic for interviews. My efforts for work and a pursuit for stability had been severely limited by my history, and I knew deep down that my father would be disappointed in me, frustrated that I had thrown away my life for a few brief moments of gratifying vengeance.

I had no regrets.

I did what I had wanted, fully aware of the repercussions that would follow. Unlike my father, the life I wished to live was mine alone, and if I wanted to pursue a course of self-destruction, then by god that's what I would do.

I would find justice, even if society condemned my actions.

That kid took away from my family, what right had the courts in annexing my jurisdiction? Way I saw it; they should not have been involved. If you killed an innocent in cold blood, then what else should you expect other than swift judgment? Conrad Wolfram did not deserve to suffocate in a pool of his own blood, just as that kid did not deserve to starve because he was too poor to afford to eat.

But he did deserve what happened to him for weighing his need to eat above the worth of a father with kids and a wife. And if I were to ever take priority in my life over those who could be considered innocent, then I would surely deserve whatever punishment that would incur.

All the same, my views were not entirely conductive to the avenues of employment I had been investigating. I could never see myself as a grocery clerk, night stocker, or even an assistant or secretary. I held distaste for big banks and monopolizing corporate giants. I was a felon so jobs in the security sector or police were extremely unlikely. I scoffed at the mere notion of being a taxi driver.

What I wanted was an opportunity to effect change, to alter the way the world now worked. I wanted to bring justice, and I did not want bureaucracy to stand in my way. I had heard the news, even in jail they talked about the increasingly unstable political climate. Venom, a world once little else but a penal colony, had risen from the ashes of its forced isolation, resurrected as a highly motivated and severely militarized society. Just last month, through various back channels and commercial transactions, they had acquired the rights to the industrial world of Eladard, setting their gaze next upon the beautiful jungles of Zoness.

I didn't have much in the way of education, but even I could see that if they were allowed to continue as they were, the portents on the horizon could only be war. Corneria could not allow any more of their worlds to confederate with the growing Empire incurring upon their sovereign territories.

I neither loved nor hated United Lylatian Republics. I do not blame the entirety of the government for what happened to my family, but it was the ULR's inability to properly govern its territories that allowed so many to live in squalor under its rule.

It did not look it, but this society was hemorrhaging internally. I knew the stories, heard accounts from my fellow inmates. The administration was bloated with corruption, rife with unnecessary expenditure, misallocated funds, and criminal negligence in regards to monitoring corporate activities. For every one good thing the ULR accomplished, they were met with another dozen counts of fraud, kickbacks, and embezzlement. There were riots on Katina, and the military had been deployed on Aquas to suppress "discontent".

Knowing all of this, I could not see how I could find a place in this world that did not make we wish for death, if only to escape the madness festering within this nation.

A week after I was released for the second time, Wolf came to me with an answer.

* * *

"You're serious…?" I eyed the lupine in bewilderment from across the dinner table, empty plates and dirtied silverware stretching between us while his mother washed dishes in the kitchen a few feet away. "Don't we need some form of formal training for that?"

"Sure, but the PMC is more than willing to foot the time and resources, for a small reduction in wages of course." He admitted with a slight shrug. "Still, we'd make more than any other job we could hope to find out there.

I leaned back in my seat, contemplating what I had just been told. Wolf's father, before his fateful meeting with a staircase, had been partner to a small mercenary outfit that operated out of a base in the Meteo asteroid cluster, Sargasso space station. Apparently, after learning of his fate, his co-commander had sought out Wolf, extending an offer for him to join.

"What reason would this Powalski guy have to hire us anyway? From what I remember, you are not your father."

Wolf winced only momentarily before he returned to his impassioned insistence. "True, but he said he owed my father a favor. So at least my old man was good for something. Anyways that's not the issue. I just want to know if you would be willing to do this. Because if you don't go, I won't either. I explicitly told him we were a package deal."

The lupine starred down to his empty plate, his expression darkening. "We're in this together, Lance. I'm not going to leave you behind again."

I sighed, feeling a nearly uncontrollable need to rub my brow with my palm. I honestly was not sure why I was so obstinate with him. He had brought this up out of a desire to help me. But... I don't know. I've never been in a real fight before, not one where lasers are flying around and bombs fell from the sky. This would be far different from shiving some would be rapist in the shower, or beating up a couple of thugs who thought I'd make for an easy mark. This would be the real deal. I'd never wanted to be a soldier, and the idea of being an independent mercenary was somehow even less appealing.

Yet at the same time, in some peculiar way, the thought of it all was… liberating. I wouldn't be held down by government sanctions or military restrictions. And admittedly, the thought of immunity should our chosen benefactor lose, played a part in my deliberation. I knew I wasn't cut out for the regimental life of a soldier; even prison had more freedom than the army. I didn't fear death either, I had no intent on dying for a cause I did not believe in, but if I were to meet my end I could confidently admit it would not bother me as much as it would someone else. Death had lost all significance for me after my family fell apart. The only reason I was so focused was because I still had someone to affix my attention on.

I had gathered the distinct feeling that wolf needed me, a friend that he could trust implicitly. Other than his mother, I learned that he had no one else, no brothers or sisters or extended family. I was the only person he had to watch his back out in the world.

We only had each other.

"Alright, I'll agree to go along with this, even though your last plan landed me back in jail for a few days. Hopefully this will not be any worse than that."

The wince he had before paled in comparison to the one marring his muzzle now. "I did warn you about felines." He chuckled nervously.

I shivered. "Yes well it's probably better to forget I think." Clearing my mind of the crazy cat I had been trapped with, I instead put my mind on our next step. If we were going to do this, we would do this right. That meant adequate planning, and the refusal of subpar assets. If we were going to throw ourselves into blaster fire, I would damn well see that we were properly equipped.

"How much do we have in the way of credits?" I asked him, already calculating costs for weapons and equipment.

"Well… discounting the fee to charter a transport ship to task us out to Sargasso, and few extra credits for emergencies, we have about three thousand credits between us, maybe thirty-five hundred if my mother chipped in. And that's _with_ everything we earned in prison."

"No." I shook my head with a look to the mild mannered female loading the dishwasher without a care in the world. She always seemed happiest when she was doing something, probably a trait born of necessity. "I won't take any more money from here than I already have. And neither will you. I think it's time we let her just worry about herself."

Wolf had little argument with that.

"So… what can we do with three thousand credits?" He wondered aloud. I was sure he knew little about the world we would soon be departing for.

Thankfully, my days in prison offered me a less than usual education.

"Well… if we don't skimp on quality, and find a reputable dealer, we could probably purchase two blaster rifles and at least a somewhat decent combat uniform for the both of us."

And hopefully that would be enough.

"When would we be leaving?"

"Powalski said he'd be back on the planet in a week after I last saw him. Considering that was four days ago, we'd have about three to prepare."

Three days, I suppose I could work with that. There was however, just one last issue to address I realized as I looked to Wolf's mother.

"When will you tell her?"

The lupine adopted a pained expression as he looked to his mother, though his visage hardened within moments. "I'll let her know tomorrow. Though I'd like to spend the rest of the day home, if that's alright with you."

I nodded in understanding. "Of course, I'll head out and see what I can scare up about any suppliers." If the world still worked like I thought it would, it shouldn't be all that hard to find what I was looking for. I had seen enough growing up on the streets to figure out how these things worked. I was a very observant child.

Concluding out conversation, I stood up from the table and entered the kitchen, looking to Wolf's mother with a heartfelt smile. "Thanks again for dinner Melody. I don't know how you keep putting up with me."

The matronly lupine turned from the sink to meet my smile with a soft and paternal grin. She was a beautiful woman still, dark grey fur and warm lavender eyes complimenting a maternal figure. Age had only offered her grace and a certain knowing charm that I adored. She was much like my mother had been, before she lost her husband. It was not lost on me in that thought that Miss O'Donnell was better for having lost hers.

"Please lance," She admonished with a light and airy giggle as she dried her paws on a washcloth. "You are no bother to me. I will always be grateful that you watched out for my son while he was in that… that place." The female wolf leaned forwards and wrapped me in a caring embrace. "The O'Donnell home is just as much yours as it ours."

I was speechless, my eyes watery and my body threatening to tremble. It had been many years since I last had the comfort of motherly affection. I tried not to think about the loss of my mother, of how one day had ruined the lives of my family and myself. Somewhere inside I was still a scared fourteen year old boy that never had the chance to love my mother more.

"I…" My voice cracked, despite my embarrassment. "Thank you Melody… that… means a lot to me." I was unsure if she would ever learn how much.

"Your welcome, honey. You just remember to be safe and stay out of trouble." She chided affectionately, a brow precariously perched. "There's no reason for you to go back."

I nodded, leaving that as my answer as I left the kitchen and made my way outside of the house, a tear finally escaping me in the protection of my solitude. I learned long ago to cry in private.

I had never been afraid of how people perceived me. But in prison they saw it as a sign of weakness, like sharks circling blood in the water. I had been certain to dissuade them of that notion.

I did not cry often, but when I had, it was well deserved. I have only cried a handful of times in my life. I cried when my childhood friend had been killed in a gang dispute. I cried when as I child, I fell out the window and snapped my femur. Since, I have only shed tears in two other moments. I cried the day my father died, and I cried the first night in my cell nine years ago.

Today broke a record nine years in the making.


End file.
